“Which we did.”

“I thought I might have an orgasm right there,” she said,

“standing beside her putting grapes in a bag.”

He smiled and squeezed her hand.

“Up close and personal,” he said softly.

16

“For Christ’s

sake,” Marcy said. “You can’t have

someone to dinner and just plonk three cartons of Chinese food on the table.”

“Of course you can’t,” Jesse

said. “I just wanted to see if you

knew that.”

“Yeah, right,” Marcy said.

She was looking through his kitchen cabinets.

“You can make us a cocktail,” she said.

“While I set the

table.”

Without asking, Jesse made each of them a tall scotch and soda.

Holding two wineglasses, Marcy said, “What wine goes with

Chinese food?”

“Probably a muscular cabernet,” Jesse said.

“Do you have any?”

“No.”

“What have you got?”

“Black Label scotch, Absolut vodka, Budweiser beer.”

Marcy nodded and put the wineglasses away. She put the cartons of food in a low oven and brought her drink over to the couch.

“How’s it going with Jenn?” she

said.

Jesse shrugged.

“That well?” Marcy said.

“She came over the other night and cooked me dinner,” Jesse

said.

“Good dinner?”

“Fancy,” Jesse said.

“She’s taking cooking

classes.”

“Was the evening all right?”

“Sure,” Jesse said.

Marcy was quiet, holding her glass in both hands, sipping.

“This works out very well for her,” Marcy said

finally.

“What?”

“This arrangement. She has you when she wants you.

If she gets

in trouble you’re there. If she needs sympathy or support or understanding you’re there. If she wants to see somebody else,

she’s free to.”

“That’s probably true,” Jesse

said.

“What do you get?” Marcy said.

Jesse went to the kitchen counter and made himself another drink. He brought it back and stood and looked out his picture window at the harbor.

“I’m in this for the long haul,

Marce.”

“Which means?”

“Which means, I love her, and I’ll stick until she proves to me

that there’s no way to fix things.”

“And she hasn’t?”

“No.”

“Does she say she loves you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to make you mad, but have you thought she might

just be manipulating you?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And she’s not,” Jesse said.

Marcy sipped minimally at her scotch.

“Have you seen that shrink lately?”

“Dix? I see him.”

“Do you talk about this?”

“Some.”

“Am I getting too nosy?” Marcy said.

“Yes.”

Marcy took a big swallow of her drink.

“I heard about another murder in town,”

she said. “Up at the

mall.”

Jesse nodded.

“Any luck with it?”

Jesse shook his head.

“How about the other one, the man on the beach?”

“Nope.”

“Well,” Marcy said,

“it’s a long season.”

“Yes.”

They were quiet for a bit. It was full evening, and past where Jesse stood by the window, across the dark harbor, they could see the lights of Paradise Neck and Stiles Island. There was no traffic in the harbor.

“Talk to me a little about rape,” Jesse said.

“Rape?”

“Yes.”

“It’s never really been necessary in my case.”

Jesse smiled.

“Molly’s working on a rape case. She says it’s every woman’s

fear.”

“Well …” Marcy paused. Her

drink was empty. She held it

out and Jesse went to mix her another, and made himself one too.

“I would guess that most women are not unaware of the

possibility.”

Jesse nodded.

“What’s the worst thing about

it?” Jesse said. “When you think

about it.”

“It’s not that I wake up every day

worrying about

rapists.”

“I know,” Jesse said. “But if

you think about it, what would be

the worst part.”

Marcy put her feet up on the couch and shifted so she could look

more comfortably across the harbor. She drank some scotch, and swallowed and let her breath out audibly.

“If he’s not hurting you

physically,” Marcy said, “I suppose

it’s being degraded to a thing.”

“Tell me about that,” Jesse said.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re not some kind of a pervert, are you?”

“I don’t think so,” Jesse said.

“Tell me about being a

thing.”

“Well, you know, it’s a woman being used against her will for a

purpose in which she has no part. Hell, the guy’s using her to jerk

off.”

“Or something,” Jesse said.

“Literally or figuratively,” Marcy said,

“you’re a

thing.”

“It’s not about you,” Jesse said.

“No,” Marcy said. “It is

entirely about the rapist and you don’t matter.”

Jesse nodded slowly. He walked from the window and sat on the couch beside Marcy. They were quiet. Marcy leaned her head against Jesse’s shoulder. He patted her thigh.

“This isn’t just about the

rape,” Marcy said after a while. “Is it.”

“No.”

“It’s also about Jenn,” Marcy

said.

Jesse nodded.

“Sometimes I think everything is,” he said.

17

Jesse was in the parking lot of the Northeast Mall, talking to Molly on a cell phone.

“Where is she now,” he said.

“Just coming out of Macy’s.”

“She alone?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone around you recognize?”

“No. This is the time.”

“Okay, pick her up and bring her.”

Molly didn’t actually have a hold on Candace when they came out

of the vast shopping sprawl, but she walked close and a little behind, herding her with her right shoulder like a sheepdog.

“Hop in,” Jesse said, when they reached him.

“What do you want?” Candace said.

“We’ll talk about it when you get

in,” Jesse

said.

Molly opened the door, Candace got in, Molly closed the door.

Through the open window she looked at Jesse. He shook his head.

“Is that smart?” Molly said.

“Probably not,” Jesse said.

“I’ll take it from

here.”

Molly shrugged and nodded and walked away. Jesse knew she disapproved. Sexual harassment was an easy charge to make against a male cop alone with a woman. Jesse put the car in gear.

“You want to slump down so nobody sees you,” Jesse said, “I

won’t take it personally.”

Candace sat with her back to the car window.

“What do you want?”

“To talk,” Jesse said. “The

elaborate stuff is to make sure no

one sees you talking to me.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t care. But I was under the

impression you

did.”

Jesse pulled out of the parking lot and went north on Route 114.

“Where are you taking me?”

“There’s a Dunkin‘ Donuts up

here,” Jesse said. “We’ll have a

cup of coffee.”

“I don’t want to talk with you.”

“I know,” Jesse said. “But I

think you have to.”

They were quiet while Jesse drove through the take-out window and got two coffees and four cinnamon donuts. Jesse carefully opened the little window in the plastic top of both cups and handed one to Candace. He sat the donuts on the console between them, leaning against the shotgun that stood in its lock rack against the dashboard.

“Bo Marino,” Jesse said. “Kevin

Feeney, Troy

Drake.”

Candace’s shoulders hunched, her head went down. She didn’t say

anything.

“We both know they raped you,” Jesse said.

Candace hunched herself tighter.

“And we both know they threatened you about telling.”

“How do you know that?”